


Vampire Weekend

by Grand Buzz (quodpersortem)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bottom Louis, Bottom Zayn, Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:45:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/Grand%20Buzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Louis are vampires who fuck. Niall's a werewolf and Liam's the librarian who's in love with him. Harry is the Mysterious Woodlands Creature who supplies them with herbs of certain persuasions. They all love each other a lot (but Zayn loves Louis most).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vampire Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> For Ree [habibilouis](http://habibilouis.tumblr.com/) for being quite perfect. 
> 
> It's also a bit because I want to see her cry, and because once I started to write this monster, I couldn't stop myself. There is too little Zouis in this world anyway, and this fic has a pretty high amount of general silliness and poor research. Any mistakes you'll find in grammar/spelling/etc. are mine--however, any poor life choices and jokes are the characters' faults. 
> 
> The title comes from the band with similar name, because the entire fic came into existence due to me quoting a line from their song Cousins, and then starting about vampires Louis and Zayn... Yup.
> 
> ~~My recent fics have a universal theme, yes, I am aware of this and absolutely not sorry.~~
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy the story, and it'd be awesome if you let me know whether you do! x

__Friday, or: Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa  
Do you wanna fuck  
like you know I do

Zayn loves to sleep in.

Of course he does, he’s a creature of the night—the later he wakes up, the better it is.

Or that’s the technical side of it, anyway. He’d thought that it would be a natural given, for a vampire to sleep through the day, but instead it’s three p.m. and he’s got Louis pounding on his door and shouting like a maniac (which is more of an issue now that they live in a house in the middle of the city, not a castle).

There’s only so long he can pull his pillow over his head and ignore him. Currently, he can hear Louis trying to pick the lock, and from past experience… Let’s say that sometimes Louis gets lucky.

So, he drags himself out of bed and grabs his iPad to check if his hair looks alright. Modern technology may be bothersome sometimes (cars are awful and planes are the _worst_ way to travel—vampires nor humans should be allowed to fly)but it has his perks, definitely.

“You need to get me milk,” Louis states. “We’ve run out.”

Zayn groans, rubbing at his eyes. “Why are you even up, Lou, it’s barely past three. We’ve talked about this.”

“ _Milk_ , Z. And I was playing Fifa against Nialler.”

“Niall is not a bloody vampire,” he tells Louis regardless. “He doesn’t sleep by day, remember? You, however, should. Or at least _try_ to.”

Louis scowls at him.

In addition to his usual insomnia, he’s been a bit moody over having to leave the castle. They were quickly running out of funds, though, and a local businessman wanted to put good money into it as an investment, turn the place into a museum.

Zayn doesn’t quite understand Louis’ passion for the bloody place. The castle had been cold and there was a constant draught, seeping in from under the door and chilling him to his bones even in summer. Most of the rooms smelled musty because no one ever used them and Louis barely even left his room then.

Besides, now the shops are within walking distance, which makes for a much easier experience overall. Zayn may not be mortal, but being a passenger when Louis drives is absolutely _terrifying_.

The money is good, too. They are renting out the castle, which means they are splitting the income with Mr. Cowell, albeit in a slightly uneven trade. He had wanted to buy it, but as Louis is the only surviving heir of the castle, he did have some leverage over the man. Zayn does not want to know how Louis would have responded if the place he once lived in with his family had not been his anymore at all.

Over the past few years, since they have moved out, Cowell has started to advertise the castle as legitimately haunted. Apparently some ghost hunters he flew in from America proved that there was ‘definite unnatural activity’.

And while there’s definitely a yes to _some_ sort of unnatural… The castle being haunted is absolute _rubbish_ , because Zayn lived in it for four hundred years and he never saw as much as a moving teacup, much less a proper ghost.

“Are you going to get me my milk or will you just stand there like you’re daft?” Louis interrupts him, prodding at his chest.

“Piss off, Lou,” Zayn grumbles. “You can wait a few hours, have a kip.”

“I’ll be mardy as fuck then,” Louis protests. “You have to get me my milk, you know I’d do it meself—“

And he’s baring his fangs then, trying to look threatening as he pulls at Zayn’s arm, dragging him from his room, and he’s honestly so _annoying_ when he’s not been sleeping. Zayn scoffs at Louis, even when Louis bends down and tickles the inside of Zayn’s knee so he lifts his leg to get away, then deftly slips on Zayn’s shoe.

“ _Fine_ ,” Zayn gives in, kicking away Louis’ arm as he tries to tickle his other leg. “But you owe me for this, I swear to fuck.”

Louis winks, and then he’s flitting into the living room, leaving Zayn to pull on his winter coat and step outside into the dreary weather.

Of course, it’s raining outside.

-

When he gets back, Louis is on him immediately. He is about to grab the carton of milk from Zayn’s hand when Zayn raises his eyebrow at him.

Louis smirks and gives him peck on his cheek, whispering “You’re my favourite boy, of course” before he darts off to the kitchen, milk in hand.

Zayn sighs as he shrugs off his coat and shoes, then follows Louis into the back area of the house. There’s a mug for him too, and Louis seems to have cheered up as he whistles when he grabs the chocolate chip cookies from the cupboard.

“I’m sorry I was a bit of a twat, before,” he tells Zayn before climbing into his lap—a habit left over from their castle days to keep warm.

“’s Alright, love,” he tells Louis, before he drags him in for a kiss.

Louis tastes of tea and cookies, like Zayn’d expected, and there is definitely some lingering toothpaste too. There’s no doubt he brushed his teeth while Zayn was away, knowing that they’d end up like this because Zayn’s so easy when it comes to Louis.

Lou’ arms fold around Zayn’s neck as he wriggles around, until he’s sat with his legs on either side of Zayn’s. Zayn keeps his hands on Louis’ side—as much for comfort as it is to keep Louis on edge a little, because Zayn can and _will_ tickle him.

They snog for a while, until Zayn’s lips tingle and the taste of tea is gone. Which reminds him—

“Your cuppa’s going cold, love,” he says, and Louis frowns.

“Who cares about tea anyway, when I’m in your lap.”

Zayn smirks and presses his mouth to Louis’ neck, nicking the skin with one of his fangs and licking away the drop of blood. “I do care, I got you your milk, remember?”

Louis sighs. “I suppose, yeah.”

-

Harry drops by right before dark.

“I’ve come for dinner,” he says briskly as Zayn lets him into the house.

“You’ll have to drag Louis out for shopping first,” Zayn informs him. “He made me go out for his milk earlier.”

“He’s in a mood again then?” Harry smirks. “Should I leave so you can work it out?”

Zayn shakes his head, following Harry to the living room where Louis has installed himself in front of the telly again. He’s wearing his headset and shouting at Niall (which Zayn knows because Louis keeps saying _Nialler, no—no, what, what are you doing? You Irish cunt—_ ).

The moment he notices Harry, he’s throwing off his headphones and shouting, “Hiya, deer!” as he scrambles up to get a hug.

“Not a deer,” Harry tells him, “just a quiet woodlands cr—“

“-eature with plant growing magic, I know, I know,” Louis finishes for him. “You like _puns_ Harry, you should enjoy your nickname.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry pushes off Louis. “Zayn said you didn’t go to the shops?”

 “Nah,” Louis shrugs. “I hate going on me own.”

Zayn raises his eyebrow at Harry, the _I told you so_ that won’t go unnoticed by Louis, but it’s worth a try.

“I’ll take you,” Harry says finally, “but only if you pay and let me buy veggies.”

When Louis tries to protest, Zayn grins at him with his fangs out. He knows Louis isn’t scared by them, but it’s still a nice intimidating tactic and helpful because Zayn ranks just that bit higher. “We need some healthy food, Lou,” he says. “Listen to what Haz says, yeah?”

“Right,” Louis frowns. “But only if you make that oven dish so I won’t taste the broccoli.”

“Deal,” Harry tells him.

“Okay, then. Let’s go, deer,” Louis salutes Harry and leads him out of the room, giving Zayn some space to breathe and clear his head while he cleans up the room. Not that he can’t breathe usually, but Louis tends to make it difficult at times (especially when he tries to shove his tongue down Zayn’s mouth at any opportune moment).

Louis has left empty cans of energy drink everywhere and he must have ordered a pizza at some point, because there’s a dominos box that was not there yesterday.

After he’s back from taking out the rubbish, Zayn phones Niall to ask if he wants to come over tomorrow or if he’ll ride out the full moon by himself. When Niall says “sure”, he phones Liam because he doesn’t like seeing Niall in more pain than necessary during the transformation and he ran out of Northern Wolfsbane potion.

By the time he hangs up on Liam, he can hear that Harry and Louis are back.

“Choccy most definitely is a sustainable diet for a vampire!” Louis tells Harry as they are en-route to the kitchen. It’s unsurprising, because if things were up to Louis, he’d return with only chocolate.

“You would get ill if you ate only chocolate, Lou,”  Harry tells him. “I don’t want Zayn to have to call Liam again because you can’t go to the loo—“

“Yup! Let’s not talk about this again,” Louis says, and when Harry starts to protest, he must show his fangs because Harry shuts up promptly.

Zayn groans as he lets himself drop down on the sofa for a nap in the dim room, the only light in the house some candles that Harry put up in the kitchen because he values their scent and _it gives everything a more homely touch, don’t you think?_

He’s glad that although he’s a day creature, Harry doesn’t need artificial light to get around, because it means that Zayn can close his eyes and not be woken up by the bright lamp suddenly turning on. (He loves Liam, he really does, but his insensitivity towards light is highly bothersome at times—especially when Zayn was forced to get up early by _a certain vampire._ )

When the food is ready, Harry is the one to wake him up.

Zayn stumbles to the dining table with his eyes mostly-closed, and Louis rubs his back as he gets in the chair next to him.

“Kip well?” he asks, which definitely indicates that Louis feels some sort of remorse for waking him up so early.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

Harry’s _oven dish_ as Louis calls it smells delicious. It has potatoes and plenty of fresh herbs, home-grown by Harry (possibly on the wood of their dining table). There are carrots and broccoli too, and while Zayn’s never particularly cared for Western food or the lack of spice, he generally enjoys the food Harry cooks.

-

“What are your plans for tonight?” Harry asks when they’re having a cuppa on the sofa; the curtains are finally open to the street. It’s not busy, but there are a couple of gaggles of students preparing to go clubbing.

“Not much,” Zayn says as Louis says, “I think I’ll pull out the Coffin.”

Zayn groans at the same moment Harry claps his hand—then again, he did always have a strange sense of humour, Zayn thinks.

The Coffin is, quite literally, a coffin. Louis had it back in the castle when Zayn first came to England; it’s made of sturdy wood and only slightly bigger than the coffins most people are buried in.

He’s told Zayn different stories about its origins. Sometimes it’s that he was almost buried in it, his family thinking he had died when the vampire venom finally kicked in and woke him back up. Other times, he will say that he used it as a bed in a time it was highly fashionable to do so (Zayn remembers no such time, but he did spend most of his early centuries in Pakistan with his dad so it could be a white people thing). Usually Zayn prefers to believe the version where Louis wanted to prank a tradesman, almost scared him to death, after which the poor man left the Coffin at the castle as he thought it may be haunted.

Louis likes to drag it outside sometimes (super strength be damned; he’ll beg Zayn into helping him). He says that it will scare the Uni students into being more careful.

(And Zayn knows the story behind that—knows that there’s more truth to some of Louis’ words than he’d like. He was the son of Nobility, piss drunk and on his way back to the Castle when he was robbed of more than his money. Jay was unable to accept the idea that her son was dead so the family brought in a witch doctor. This doctor had owned a vial of vampire saliva somehow, and without informing Louis’ parents of what the effects it would be, it had been administered to him rather forcefully. Not _nearly_ as sexy as Zayn’s own story.)

“It was raining when I went shopping earlier,” Zayn counters. “And I’d like to stay in tonight and not have the police come by to inform me my flatmate is being unruly in the front garden.”

Louis sighs as he kicks his feet onto the coffee table, leaning his head on Zayn’s shoulders. “I do suppose those make for a couple of good arguments.”

And Zayn hasn’t even used the big gun yet.

“I do also suppose you should know that Niall will be here tomorrow all night,” he mutters in Louis’ ear as he puts his hand on Louis’ thigh. Harry winks at him from behind Lou and Zayn resists the urge to stick his tongue out at him because Harry may not be sexually active but his mind is as filthy as any of theirs.

Louis perks up right away, nodding. “Right, of course. Yeah, call off the coffin idea.” Then he turns to look at Harry. “Do you feel ready to leave yet? You do look a little green around the gills.”

Harry snorts. “I only look a bit green when I am out in full sunlight and photosynthesis really kicks in.”

“Party pooper,” Louis pouts and Harry taps at Louis’ bottom lip.

“I thought that I was more of a cock blocker?” Harry says sweetly. “That’s what you called me earlier today, anyway.”

“When was this?” Zayn asks. He’s not so much surprised as curious, because Harry did not exactly interrupt _anything_.

“On the way to the store,” Louis grumbles. “If Harry wasn’t going to stop by, you know we’d have had sex on the kitchen table.”

Zayn just smiles while Harry shakes with laughter.

“I still don’t know how he’s so shameless,” he tells them when he’s calmed down a little. “But I do need to get going; I’m dead on my feet.”

“You don’t need the lamp?” Zayn asks him. Louis was right in the sense that Harry is not looking good—his skin has grown significantly more ashen in colour since dinner and he is starting to curl in on himself. The daylight lamp (a hilariously ironic possession for two vampires) does not work as well as full sunlight but it serves its purpose as a back-up for Harry when he is too tired to go home on its own.

“No, I’m fine for now,” Harry tells them. “Don’t worry.”

“Alright,” Zayn nods. “Take care, yeah?”

“Ta, yeah, will do,” Harry smiles. “Zayn, please do exhaust Louis so he can sleep well tomorrow day.”

“Hey!” Louis protests, about to get up and—possibly—fight Harry when Zayn holds him back. “See you later, deer!”

Harry’s chuckling follows him out of the door.

“Now, where were we, babe?” Louis smiles slyly when the door has closed.

“I can’t remember,” Zayn teases him. “Weren’t you going to do the dishes first?”

Louis wants to grab him but Zayn deftly avoids him—unlike Louis, he was trained in the proper skills of combat—to go to the loo.

When he’s back, he finds Louis grumbling over the kitchen counter—but at least the sink is filled with foam and water and there are several plates on the drying rack with suds dripping off them. (Zayn wonders when Louis will learn to wash the glasses first, or decide that a dishwasher does _not_ leave a funny taste on clean cutlery like he claims it does.)

-

Zayn runs a bath while Louis finishes up the dishes.

The warm water helps with his aching muscles—he may be eternally young, but that does not mean he can get away with sleeping on the sofa without getting a crick in his neck.

He’s put in some of Liam’s lavender-and-thyme-and-sea-salt or whatever it is too; he forgets easily because Liam likes to make up new combinations frequently (although Zayn secretly suspects that Liam gets distracted by Niall messing around in his little shop a lot, because he’s had a couple of bath salts that smelled hideous—or he allows Niall to come up with new and worse blends that he gives to Zayn and Louis for free).

Because Louis takes ages to come upstairs, Zayn keeps adding hot water to keep the temperature right.

He’s always preferred baths over showers—showers remind him too much of the taps in front of the Mosques back in what is now called Pakistan and he stopped praying centuries ago. Yet, nowadays he figures there’s little use in performing wudu when you’re considered a jinn anyway, and little use to pray when there is a chance he won’t ever die.

Or if he dies in the unlikely event that his head is chopped off, Zayn ponders, he did continue to make dua the first several centuries after he turned. It makes his prayer count far higher than any human alive. He quit on the cusp of the 17th century when he moved to England, with the last member of his father’s family dead and buried and Zayn was curious to finally see the lands his mother hailed from. He met Louis within months upon arrival, through connections in the supernatural world, and the rest is history as they say.

It’s a part of him that’s in the past, but that doesn’t mean he does not miss practising his faith or does not still consider himself Muslim. It became too hard, though, to feel comfortable cleansing himself for prayer or during ghusl, when he knew he would never be properly haram anyway.

Louis brings him out for Eid sometimes—and in the recent years, Niall never has forgotten, not since he’s learnt about Zayn’s heritage.

(His accent was intended to be a joke. A boy with brown skin, speaking a Northern English dialect at a time when racism was still law. It has become part of his essence, by now, glad to feel connected to an area in a country he did not grow up in, but from which he did see the world change more rapidly than he thought it could.)

“I thought you’d gone into the bedroom,” Louis puffs as he throws the door open, shaking Zayn from his reverie. There’s an immediate cold draught, but Louis doesn’t seem to care because he starts pulling off his clothes even though the door is still opened.

“Mind closing the door?” Zayn asks. “It’s cold.”

“Ah, forgot you’re Asian again,” Louis mutters.

“You always forget until you have me buy more tea or milk,” Zayn huffs, even though it’s more of an inside joke than an accusation. “Then it’s convenient because _oh Zayn, but your wonderful golden tan allows you to go outside while my pasty arse has to stay put._ ”

“I have never said that,” Louis says, but he does close the door. “ _Never_.”

Zayn simply smirks as he blatantly checks out Louis. He’s looking good, now that he’s settled a bit more in their little terraced house and is eating again, gaining back the weight he’d lost because of the stress. His tattoos contrast nicely with his skin and his bum—oh Lord, Louis’ bum is Zayn’s favourite piece of art in the world. Pasty it may be, it’s one of the nicest Zayn has gotten the privilege of squeezing in all of his centuries.

Louis loves the attention, smiling back at Zayn as he stretches his torso when he pulls off his shirt, turning around when he strips off his socks so Zayn gets a lovely shot of Louis’ bare arse.

 By the time he joins Zayn in the tub, Zayn’s dick is plumping up and so is Louis’.

He spreads himself on top of Zayn so they’re chest-to-chest and Zayn rakes his hand through Louis’ hair, wetting it enough that it can be pushed back. Louis’ eyes flicker back and forth between Zayn’s lips and eyes, and it gives Zayn a thrill to know that Louis still seeks for his approval, even after more than three hundred years of doing this.

Zayn only needs to slide his hand down Louis’ spine, squeezing his bum, to make Louis lean in and press a kiss to his lips. It’s with the ease of a couple who know exactly how to get each other going, except—

They’re not exactly boyfriends.

It doesn’t matter, not with the way Louis’ hand wriggles between them and grabs Zayn’s cock. He squeezes at the base, and then uses short strokes to deftly bring Zayn to full hardness. Louis takes his time, because they have plenty of that, while Zayn’s fingers find Louis’ hole—hot and clenching together when he gently brushes past it.

Louis shudders a little when Zayn pushes his finger against the little dip, the muscle still firm, and he can feel Louis’ dick grow against his thigh.

“You wanna ride me tonight?” he whispers in Louis’ ear. He deliberately lets the soft skin of Louis’ earlobe catch on his fang, because no matter how often Lou tries to deny it—his entire body is wired to his cock when Zayn is the one touching him.

“Bloody— _yeah_ ,” Louis groans, pushing back against Zayn’s finger more firmly now. Zayn allows him to indulge in the feeling until he can feel the tip breach the hard muscle, Louis’ insides satin-soft and warm against his digit. When Louis tries to wriggle down more, Zayn pulls his finger out again.

Then he hooks his fingers behind the insides of Louis’ knees, pulling them to his sides until Zayn has Louis pretty much sitting on top of him in the bath water. Louis pushes himself up a little, and Zayn pulls him up over the top of his cock—now that he’s hard, it’s easy for Louis to rub his hole against the length of his cock.

“Yeah?” Zayn pants. “Want that inside of you?”

Louis nods while he moans, grinding down harder. His cock is fully hard now too, rosy-red and gorgeous as it bounces in time with his thrusts, the water sloshing over Zayn’s chest.

“Ready to get out of bath?” he asks then, ready to pull the plug by hooking his toe behind the little chain, but Louis’ hand on his thigh stops him.

“I wanna ride your face first, love,” he says. “Wash me, yeah?”

And as Zayn is by no means opposed to that offer, his fingers immediately find their path back to Louis’ hole. With his other hand he reaches for the bottle of non-soap washing gel, allowing Louis to take over and pour it over his fingers. Then Louis lifts up a bit so his bum’s completely out of the water.

He keeps Louis’ cock pressed up against his belly with one hand while he slips his foamy hand further down between his legs, rubbing along Louis’ crack with the gel. He teasingly dips his finger into Louis’ hole, just the very tip to make Louis shiver as he gently circles it around a bit.

Then he takes his hand away and murmurs, “Time to get under the spray.”

He does let the water drain away then and turns on the showerhead. Louis shampoos his hair—something which had taken Zayn ages to get used to, because when Lou does it, it looks different and Zayn’s a bit vain (or a lot vain, if he has to believe Louis—but then so is Louis himself, and besides, Zayn simply likes looking good because it makes him feel better about himself).

Louis shampoos his own hair while Zayn directs the showerhead at Louis’ bum, rubbing over the skin with his free hand so he is sure all washing gel is gone.

Then Louis takes over the showerhead to clean Zayn’s hair and immediately after his own. He chuckles at Zayn trying to rub the water from his eyes, which earns him a gentle pat against his bum.

After they’ve sprayed down their bodies and turned off the tap, Zayn pulls Louis close again.

Their bodies line up wonderfully—because they are nearly the same height, their cocks are pushed side by side between their wet bellies, and it means Louis only has to tilt up his head a bit for Zayn to kiss him deeply. It’s also convenient for Zayn’s hands as he can easily grab two handsful of Louis’ bum as he grinds their dicks together.

Louis is panting into his mouth as he pushes back into Zayn’s hands, forcing him to knead the skin a little, digging in his fingers as he spreads Louis’ cheeks. The air to his hole makes him grind his hips forward again, obviously growing desperate—he may have started to leak a bit already, but Zayn can’t be entirely sure it’s precome as they’re still wet.

“Get dry,” he gasps into Louis’ mouth, because Zayn is by no means unaffected himself. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Louis naked and had it do nothing to him.

It’s only  when they’re not touching anymore, towelling down themselves because otherwise they’ll never make it to the master bedroom, that Zayn can feel the weakness in his knees, the way Louis’ kisses and his body still make his heart speed up and his entire core body temperature go up.

Zayn thinks that Louis may be the only person in the world who still has the capacity to make Zayn blush.

Louis drops his towel to the floor and pulls Zayn’s from his fingers—and he’d been staring again, mesmerised by the way Lou’s dick looks when it’s curved up against his belly, the way his balls have drawn up against his body because he’s so aroused and it makes him look ready to come at any time—and then drags Zayn to the bedroom with their fingers laced together.

The sheets smell fresh (Zayn wonders if Louis snuck upstairs to change them while he was in the bath, if the reason he took so long with the dishes was not because of the dishes) and they’re soft when they get onto the bed.

Zayn pulls Louis on top of him, his hand on Louis’ neck to pull him close for another kiss. It’s warm and amazing, and Louis’ skin is wonderfully soft wherever their bodies touch.

Louis doesn’t stay in place for long, whispering, “You promised I could sit on your face,” into Zayn’s mouth and sitting up to climb forward before Zayn has even nodded.

The headboard they chose to put in their new master bedroom is of beautifully crafted wrought iron, encased by a wooden ledge. It’s gorgeous, all of it black and grey against the white wall, and it’s still brilliantly functional if they want to use some handcuffs.

Now, Louis is gripping at the wooden top bar as he hovers over Zayn’s face, and Zayn can’t help but cheekily lick at Louis’ balls.

Louis’ thighs wobble a bit and Zayn laughs as he brings up his hands to support Louis’ bum.

“Easy there,” he says, and Louis huffs as he sits his bum down on Zayn’s face.

Breathing is a bit hard, honestly, but Zayn doesn’t mind—not when it is because of Louis’ perineum pressed against his nose, smelling of the washing gel and himself, a hint of musky _sex_ there already, when the trimmed hairs tickle his face, when he can hear Louis’ breathing speed up even before Zayn darts out his tongue.

Zayn lifts his face a little so he can teasingly lick at Louis’ hole, feeling it tighten each time he does so. Louis tries valiantly to stay up, but the moment Zayn presses the flat of his tongue against the heated skin, he moans and pushes his hips down so that Zayn’s head is forced back into the pillow.

It’s alright—Zayn knows he can bear Louis’ weight and it’s easy to spread Louis’ cheeks apart and try to wriggle his tongue into the ring of muscle.

Louis’ response is Zayn’s favourite part of doing this. He can feel Louis’ thighs tremble against his cheeks, the way his hips try to shock away from the touch before Louis pushes back against him, the way he moans loudly when the muscle finally gives and Zayn’s tongue slides in a bit.

Zayn can feel Louis’ skin go a bit clammy under his touch, which is enough to know that he’s really enjoying it. He’s also fairly sure that Lou’s cock has leaked some precome into his fringe, which is proof he’s a little shit even when he’s too horny to really think.

When Louis lifts away suddenly, sitting down on Zayn’s chest while he tries to breathe (and inadvertently keeping Zayn from doing so himself) he’s flustered from his cheeks down to his chest.

“Can’t believe you’re still that into it,” Zayn smirks, and because he knows that his embarrassing fondness shows he hides his face in Louis’ thigh.

He loves seeing Louis worked up like this, the way his breath comes with tiny little gasps while he tries to regain composure and quiet down (and he will fail, Zayn knows, he’s seen Louis lose it like this plenty of times, but that’s _more_ than okay).

“Piss off,” Louis says. Even so, he throws his head back and moans when Zayn sucks the tip of his (indeed leaking) cock into his mouth, just for a moment, to distract him.

“You were saying?” he then asks, eyebrow cocked up.

“Just wondering where the lube’s at,” Louis says glumly.

“Ah babe, c’mon,” Zayn laughs, and he’s honestly feeling a bit guilty—he can’t stand seeing Louis pout, it’s awful, and he hadn’t realised that Louis was still a bit down after before. “I’ll make it up to you, ‘m sorry, okay?”

“I wish your face wasn’t so perfect or I’d never forgive you,” Louis complains, finally climbing off Zayn’s chest. “ _Really._ ” He then reaches over for the lube in the bedside table, where it always is, and flicks open the cap.

“Let me do it?” Zayn says, but Louis shakes his head, already pouring lube onto his fingers.

“I was about to come before,” he says. “Need to make this quick ‘cos I want it to be on your dick.”

Zayn hums as he lies back so he can watch Louis stretch himself. He’s on his knees, with one hand on the bed so he’s leaning forward and the other reaching around his back. Zayn mostly sees his arm move a little, as the new pearl of precome grows at the tip of his cock where it bounces in the air a bit. Then of course the most magnificent view of all, Louis’ face. He has his eyes closed and is biting on his lip, a wonderful flush extending over his cheeks and colouring the tips of his ears.

“Love,” he whispers, touching Louis’ arm. “It’s okay to be loud.”

Louis shakes his head. “’s Embarrassing,” he groans. “Don’t want the neighbours to hear.”

“We’re young and we live together,” Zayn counters. “What else can they think we’re doing? We are not in the middle ages anymore.”

Louis shuts up at that. His hand is moving again but he’s still quiet. For now, anyway, because Zayn knows that when Louis gets into it, he won’t be anymore. It’s a shame that he’s not now, but there’s no chance in hell that Zayn will tell Louis that he loves to hear him loud not just because it means he’s into it, but also because it satisfies the possessive streak in Zayn that he’s dead set on keeping secret.

And perhaps it’s part jealousy too, although he is glad that vampirism is transmitted via saliva mostly because it means that Louis will never snog someone at a bar, unless they’re a vampire too—and the chances of running into another of their kin are small. The European and American branches of vampires were mostly eradicated during the witch hunts and in Asia it happened well before that; they have been steady in their numbers and lying low for centuries now.

“I’m ready,” he says after a couple of minutes, during which Zayn struggles to not stroke himself. Again, it’s not something he willingly tells Louis (though he suspects Louis _knows_ anyway), but there are few things that get him off the way Louis’ loss of control when he’s eaten out does.

“Yeah,” Zayn hums, even if he’s not certain what he’s trying to say.

Louis wipes his dirty fingers off the sheets with a grimace, and Zayn knows he’ll complain about his past self when he needs to do the laundry later on.

It doesn’t matter, because right now he’s climbing into Zayn’s lap and he’s looking eager for it.

Louis snorts when Zayn’s dick twitches as he grabs it. “You’re at my throat for still being overeager half the time, and yet you’re clearly desperate for me too.”

“Yeah, I am,” Zayn breathes as he tangles his fingers between the cool iron curves above his head. “Been thinking about this since before Harry came over, remember?”

“Yeah,” Louis nods with a smile as he slicks up Zayn’s cock. “I do remember that.”

“And your bum, love,” Zayn groans as Louis rubs the head of his cock against his hole, “I can’t help that your bum is _perfect_.”

“Keep talking,” Louis grunts as he slowly sinks down onto Zayn’s hard-on.

He’s still hot as ever, tight as ever, and Zayn can feel his abs and thighs tremble in an effort to keep his hips from bucking up into Louis. He tightens his fingers, focuses on the chill of the metal while he starts speaking again.

“I love it when you’re in control like this,” his voice comes out breathy and desperate as Louis starts to swivel his hips around a bit. “Like you’re using my cock for your own pleasure, and just that.”

“Who says that I’m not,” Louis gasps as he lifts up a little, and Zayn’s eyes roll back in his head when Louis lets himself fall down. He’s sure that if his heart hadn’t been pretty much made of steel, he’d have died long ago. During the first time, or summat, probably.

“I say that you’re not,” Zayn tells him, holding his breath as Louis quickly begins to set a rhythm.

 _Shit_ , Lou’s desperate. Not that he’s not usually, but more so today, eager for Zayn to fill him up again and again. Zayn watches as Louis cups his balls and pulls them up against his stomach, keeping his cock out of the way as well, just so Zayn can watch Louis’ puckered skin stretch around his hard-on.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Louis instructs, ending his request on another moan.

“Your _thighs_ —“ Zayn starts, but it’s getting harder to speak. Louis’ body swallowing him up again and again leaves him out of breath, pleasure already spiking in his stomach and he isn’t going to take much longer.

Louis looks just as far gone, his eyes closed and his fingers now curled around his cock and stroking it while his other hand has reached down to touch his hole. It’s like he can’t get enough of Zayn, needing more and more even though he’s getting everything he can like this, so Zayn grabs Louis’ hips to hold him still, puts his feet flat on the bed with his knees bent, and starts to fuck up into Louis just like that.

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” Louis drawls, his hand on his cock moving faster, the tips of his fingers rubbing hard at the leaking slit. “Feels so good, babe, feels—c’mon, I’m going to-“

“Yeah,” Zayn says, “Louis, fuck, _Louis_ —“

And then he’s coming, spilling inside of Louis. The warmth grows a bit wetter, the slide a little easier as he pushes himself to keep going through his climax even when his hips try to lock up. Louis is shaking apart around him, muscles squeezing tight and elongating Zayn’s orgasm.

Louis is still hard when Zayn’s hips fall back onto the bed, sat right on it and making little grinding movements forward. Zayn knows that he does it because Zayn’s cock rubs along his prostate like that—and when he presses his thumb against the skin right beyond Louis’ balls, he’s coming all over Zayn’s stomach and chest, gasping and groaning his way through orgasm—wonderful guttural noises that sound a lot like _Zayn_ and _love_ and _so good_ and they shouldn’t warm him (he’s a cold and sullen vampire, after all— _ahem_ ) but they do.

“I love you,” Zayn mumbles at Louis, because this is the only time he can without alarming Louis. Louis is folding over, gingerly lifting hips until Zayn’s cock pops out, half-soft and flopping back onto his tummy. Louis falls onto the bed next to him, curling into Zayn’s body heat.

“You too,” he mumbles. “Least what you did for me.”

Zayn smiles as he pulls him closer with one arm, using the other to wipe the come off his body with the corner of the sheet, before pulling it up to cover them.

“Have a kip, yeah?” he whispers into Louis’ damp hair.

Louis groans as he hides his face against Zayn’s neck, mumbling something. Zayn thinks it might be _you’re sweaty_.

-

After they’ve napped for a bit, Louis darts outside to go chat to the Uni students roaming the streets.

He’s been out for maybe fifteen minutes before Zayn shrugs on his coat, because he’s keen on a fresh nose and a fag, and honestly, he doesn’t like being alone that much. Especially when he’s just had fantastic sex (it makes him embarrassingly snuggly).

Louis is having banter with a bunch of lads he vaguely recognises—they’ve stopped by during at least one of Louis’ impromptu late night house parties. It means that Zayn is able to set aside his habitual shyness (sadly not a vampire trait) and join them.

“Any luck so far?” he mutters in Louis’ ear, who then pulls a ciggie from his coat pocket.

Zayn uses his own lighter, and then lends it to Louis when he’s holding up his hand.

The ashen smell of burnt leaves feels great, singeing its way down his throat. They’re the only ones in the street, the three blokes staring at him and Louis. They’ve gone a bit quiet now that Zayn joined, bringing a surge of awful doubt to his stomach that leaves him silent, briefly wondering if maybe he should take his leave, when—

“Aren’t you Louis’ boyfriend?” one of them asks.

“Eh,” Zayn starts, but Louis turns to him with a little smile. It’s not the smirk he’d expected to precede Louis’ next actions—far more gentle, in fact—but that’s okay.

Louis pulls him close, his hand curled around Zayn’s hip as he rests his head on his shoulder. “Yeah,”  he says. “We’ve been together for—what’s it, babe?”

 _Three hundred and fifty-one years_ , Zayn thinks. “Three years, come January.”

“Yeah,” Louis’ smile widens. Zayn can’t see it, but he can feel it in the way Louis hides his face from the lads a little, his fingers tightening against Zayn’s jeans. Then he’s looking up and into Zayn’s eyes, and Zayn’s stomach does a little somersault.

They don’t usually kiss in public. It’s happened before, on occasion—specifically when they’re out clubbing, or hanging out with Harry, Liam and Niall—but it’s not usually in the street like this, not while they’re sober and still relaxed from the sex they had before.

Now, Louis’ lips touch to Zayn’s gently. It’s a close-mouthed kiss, at least until Louis’ lips move to press over Zayn’s upper lip and Zayn just _has_ to suck Louis’ bottom lip between his teeth. Louis’ hand moves again, sliding from his hip around to his lower back, exposing his skin to the chilly November air.

Louis’ lip is a bit chapped against Zayn’s tongue, so he wets it, nips on it a bit as he lets his fangs drop and hopes the blokes with them won’t notice, and Louis exhales a shaky breath before withdrawing.

He’s looking a bit flushed in the glare of the street light, and one of the guys he’d been chatting to hoots at them. It’s a quiet noise, though, not that of a drunken person looking for a brawl or attention but—but something more fitting with the way Louis is still smiling, borderline shy. It sounds like if the lad had been a girl, he’d have cooed at them.

“Right,” Louis says, voice hoarse. “Well, Nick, Greg, uh, other Greg… It was nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too,” one of the Gregs (or is it Greggs?) tells Louis. Zayn thinks it might be Niall’s brother, but he’s not entirely sure.

“Go get it, Lu-Lu,” Nick, who had previously hooted, chants at him.

When they walk away, Nick grabs both Gregs’ bums, one in each hand, and Louis snorts.

“They’ve usually got a pint for me when they walk down the street, but alas.”

“Yeah, love,” Zayn says. “Think that might have to do with Nick now thinking you’re taken.”

“That has to be it,” Louis pouts at Zayn. “I thought this was the easiest way to get him off my back, though. With the whole vampire saliva transmission thing. You don’t mind, do you, love?”

Zayn laughs. “Come on, Lou. Of course I don’t.”

And while it’s not entirely true that he doesn’t mind the pretense, the reason he does feel that jab of pain in his guts whenever Louis pulls a stunt like this must absolutely stay secret.

“We’re almost like proper husbands anyway,” Louis snorts. He lets go of Zayn’s waist at last and throws the burnt-out butt to the kerb with his other hand, stepping on it out of habit. “Let’s go inside, yeah? You’re shivering.”

And Zayn _is_ shivering—he just hadn’t noticed until Louis pointed it out.

He’s not sure if it’s the cold.

-

They spend the rest of their waking time on the couch. It’s nice and quiet, the wind breezing outside as a slow drizzle starts around three, slowly picking up as the night progresses.

Louis pulls out the little baggy Harry slipped him before dinner while they’re watching a slow film with a lot of wide-angle shots that Louis tries to guess the meanings of.

“He told me that the students call him the Flower Pot Man now,” Louis snorts, crumbling a little weed on top of the tobacco, carefully rearranging the paper roach before rolling the joint. “He’s been cross-breeding plants again.”

Harry is Manchester’s resident pot dealer. Louis and Zayn met him back in the sixties, and he hasn’t changed a bit since—including his long hair, his taste for flamboyant and oftentimes borderline outrageous shirts and the tightest jeans he can find.

“I am sure he appreciates the reference,” Zayn says.

“Didn’t you have that album on vinyl?” Louis laughs as he puts the blunt in his mouth, searching around in his pocket for the lighter.

Zayn fishes it from his own jeans. “Harry gave that to me, actually. _Let’s go to San Francisco_ ,” he smiles.

Harry had gone through his hippie-phase in a pretty hardcore way. Not so much in terms of drugs, maybe, or in terms of free love—but in the sense of _put some flowers in your hair_. It had been magnificent, and with the amount of drugs ingested by the people he was friends with then, no one ever wondered how it was possible that the daisies stuck to his curls so perfectly.

Harry’s always been careful where he needed to be, though. He never showed anyone in what they call the outside world how he does it. Whenever he supplies Louis and Zayn it’s not an issue though, for obvious reasons.

Zayn’s seen plenty of times how Harry cups his hands, allowing little plants to grow higher and higher. The green goes from almost-neon-new to a darker shade, eventually drying out under Harry’s careful breath before which he rubs his hands together so the leaves are crushed.

He knows Harry can do it in his cupped fist too, that does it like that when he’s dealing—but Zayn believes his friend when he says he likes to watch his plants grow.

“Remember that time Harry grew so much grass on our coffee table that we had to throw it out?” Louis says, his voice tight as he tries to keep in the smoke as long as he can while he hands the blunt off to Zayn.

Zayn snorts. “Remember he tried to add flowers and out popped more grass, and he kept mumbling it was so punny?”

The weed burns down his throat, and he inhales a second time before passing the blunt back to Louis.

Harry had promised to buy them a new table, and he had—conveniently one that was made of steel with a glass top, and Zayn didn’t mind so much until he realised it was quite breakable and that glass shards are sharp. They left that table behind in the castle, where it’s probably gathering dust in one of the rooms that’s not being used.

The table they’ve currently got is second hand and has some dried sprouts of grass coming from the grain, but it’s nowhere as bad as the old one—and it’s not worse than their current dining table either. Zayn’s eyes follow the circles that cups have left behind, wine stains and coffee stains and—Louis pokes at his side.

“Are you doing the thing with the table again?” he asks.

Zayn glares at him. “Definitely not,” he concludes, and then reaches for the joint again. Louis has been smoking since Zayn got lost in thoughts, which is unacceptable because it means Zayn _hasn’t_ and he doesn’t like it when Louis is high and he’s not.

“Here y’go, love,” Louis mutters, bringing the roach up to Zayn’s mouth.

He lets Zayn smoke for a while, until he goes properly light headed and needs to take a breather before it will feel like he’s going to pass out. His hands are a bit clammy and his heart’s sped up, but he knows that those effects are only temporary—it’s only a matter of minutes before he’ll feel great. Zayn can already feel the sedative blanket settling over him.

Louis cuddles up against him, already a little stoned and a little less careful about his composure with it.

It’s easy to fall back into the soft cushions of the sofa then, curling his arms around Louis and keeping him close.

-

They don’t go to bed until the sun starts to rise.

Louis’ arm is showing the first signs of sunburn—a redness that he rubs at in the bathroom while Zayn looks for the ointment that Liam gave them a while back.

Zayn’s not immune to the sun himself, he remembers living only by the night when he still lived in Pakistan, but the English sun doesn’t harm him much, especially not in the bleak weather of autumn and winter.

He finally finds it and massages it into Louis’ arm while Louis brushes his teeth with his free hand.

They’re both quiet, and Louis doesn’t comment when Zayn hugs him from behind, looking over Louis’ shoulder only to find the mirror empty. He’s used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still a bit sad—he would have loved to see the way they look together in a sharp reflection, not in the bad quality of his iPad.

It’d also be pretty cool to watch Louis get off like this—to see whether he’d stare at Zayn’s hand around his cock, or if he’d look at Zayn’s eyes.

“Come join me, yeah?” Louis mutters when he’s rinsed his mouth, and Zayn nods, brushing his own and having a wee before he goes into the master bedroom the second time that day.

The sheets on the bed are still soiled, of course, but they smell wonderfully like Louis-and-Zayn and Louis’ body is warm when Zayn crawls closer to him, closer, until their limbs are entwined.

 

 

 _Saturday, or: Obvious Bicycle_  
_So keep that list of who to thank in mind_

 

Zayn wakes up from the doorbell’s insistent ringing. It’s early, barely 5pm, and Louis has pulled his pillow over his head.

He groans as he sits up, his mouth dry and tasting awful. Unlike yesterday, he doesn’t grab his iPad to check his looks—mostly because it’s still in his workroom, the one that doubles as an extra bedroom. He does love Louis, but they’ve found out long ago that the key to living together without fighting too much is to give each other their space.

He can see Liam through the little window in the door, trying to peer into the house. Zayn shakes his head with a sigh as he moves to open the door.

“Couldn’t have waited another hour, could you?” He asks with a bit of a grimace. It’s more because Louis will wake up soon than anything else.

Liam’s face pulls into momentary shock before he smiles impishly. “Well, I just finished work so I figured I’d drop by right away?”

Zayn sighs as he lets Liam into the house. “Lou’s still asleep, and Niall’s not going to be here for another hour or so, probably.” Liam’s face falls at the latter news, but he quickly schools himself even as Zayn starts to smirk and asks, “I thought he dropped by the shop just about every other day?”

Liam shrugs, even as his cheekbones colour a bit. “Well, Z. I thought you and Louis weren’t in love, but then Harry dropped by _PP_ today saying he had to leave because you were all over each other again.”

Zayn shakes his head as he puts on the kettle. “I think you’re confusing lust and love again, love.”

“I think _you_ are, Z,” Liam says quietly, and these are the moments that make Zayn realise why exactly Liam does what he does, and why he’s so good at it. Because it’s true, innit, although Zayn’s not exactly confused about what he’s feeling but he’s not honest to others about what exactly Louis means to him.

And honestly, he and Liam have been building up to this conversation for a while now. They are snippets of chats, always when Louis isn’t there to overhear them because he’s asleep, or out, or because Zayn has gone to Liam’s shop by day.

 “Well, we can’t all have what we want,” he mutters. He’s still staring at his hands, and his heart feels heavy at his own admission because he’d never wanted any of the feelings that grew over the decades. They’re there, though, and they’ve been around for long enough that Zayn knows they won’t leave either.

Liam’s quiet but he wraps up Zayn in a warm hug, steady and comforting while Zayn tries to push away the flood of emotions that comes with loving Louis.

Of course, that’s when Louis comes into the kitchen as well, announcing his presence by saying, “Was I not invited to the orgy?”

Liam barks out a laugh while Zayn steps away from the embrace.

“You are never invited to orgies,” Zayn tells him at the same moment Liam says, “Knowing Zayn, I think _I_ am not invited.”

Louis shrugs at them, pouring himself a cup of tea and then going for the cabinet filled with their breakfast cereals. Zayn watches him, and he knows that Liam is watching him watch Louis.

“When are we expecting NIaller?” he says, and immediately after with a mouthful of milky Coco Puffs, “Are you going to stick ‘round, Liam?”

“I’ll stay for a while, yeah,” Liam tells them. “Have to best you at Fifa, right?”

Louis smirks, milk shining in the corners of his mouth and Zayn disgusts himself by thinking he wants to lick at Louis’ lips right now. Louis doesn’t notice that Zayn’s staring at his lips, but he can hear Liam snicker a little which means—yeah. Shit.

They settle on the sofa, Louis in his little nest by the left arm rest (Louis disagrees on the name, but there’s a blanket over the back for when he gets cold and he keeps his favourite pillows there too, bunching them up behind his back and next to his side whenever he settles in). Liam takes the spot by the other arm rest, smiling up at Zayn as he steps over Liam’s foot to get to the space in the middle.

“Scared, Payno?” Louis smirks as he turns on the Playstation.

“Nope,” Liam laughs. “Bring it on, then.”

-

Zayn zones out within minutes, and ends up grabbing an X-Men comic from the drawer under their coffee table.

He’s halfway through the pages when the doorbell rings, and because Liam and Louis are still engrossed in their game, Zayn gets up to open the door for Niall.

He’s shivering against the cold even in his thick coat, looking a bit under the weather. Zayn isn’t surprised—he usually gets like this around full moon, and Zayn knows he’ll be fine by tomorrow.

“C’mere,” Zayn mumbles, pulling Niall in for a hug when he has his coat off. “You look like shite, mate.”

“Feel like it too,” Niall grumbles. “And I was out most of the day too, ‘cos Ben had me run errands and it took ages to finish up.” Zayn doesn’t know much yet about Niall’s new job, beyond that he’s always either cold or hot (depending on the weather), and he hates it. He suspects Niall might be a pizza delivery boy.

“Well,” Zayn smiles as he kisses Niall’s cold cheek, “there’s a surprise for you in the living room.”

Niall perks up right away, some colour coming back to his cheeks. He opens his mouth for a moment, looks at Zayn a bit more carefully and then guesses, “Chocolate chip cookies?”

Zayn knows that Niall doesn’t like to guess wrong, but he also knows that his own face is an open book around the people he loves and trusts, so Niall can see this is better than biscuits right away.

“ _Really_?” he says, with the excitement that only Liam can evoke in him. Put together two rays of sunshine, and they amplify each other (so Zayn wonders what that means for him and Louis, a pair of centuries old pretence-cynical vampires—though honestly, they do have mates so it can’t be that bad).

“Yeah, he’s playing Fifa against Louis though,” Zayn tells him.

“If you’ll just strip off your shirt Lou’s distracted and Liam can win,” Niall jokes.

Liam doesn’t look up when they come into the room, though Niall’s not upset by that (mostly, Zayn knows, because Fifa is literally the only thing that can keep Liam from acknowledging Niall, and Niall knows so too). Liam does press their knees together when Niall slips into Zayn’s abandoned spot on the couch, which is why Zayn resigns himself to kitchen duty. It’s his turn to cook anyway.

It’s easy, honestly, because all he needs to do is a simple chicken Jalfrezi that he’s made hundreds of times. Niall comes in to help him out after a little while, grumbling at Liam and Louis being obsessed with Fifa (it’s true, but so is Niall himself).

Zayn doesn’t mind the helping hands, though. It’s nice especially because he gets to cook with fresh spices, supplied by Harry (he knows what Zayn needs by now—the coriander and different peppers and the saffron he uses in rice and if Harry doesn’t know a spice, Zayn will get some from the little Indian food store in town and Harry will learn).

He doesn’t mind eating a dinner for what’s technically their brekkie much either. It’s not like they live a normal life, anyway, and it also helps keep up the pretence towards their neighbours, particularly when they decide a barbecue is in order during summer. Louis and he have been eating their dinner at normal dinner time as long as he can remember—a tradition that reminds both of them of early days with their own families and, later, living in Louis’ castle and eating at the same time as the servants did.

Liam come into the room before Zayn and Niall are done cooking, and Niall helps set the table while Liam gushes about how he scored the last goal, winning from Louis after a game that had seemed to end up in a tie.

Louis joins them when Zayn is putting the rice into bowls, and Liam is breaking the naan bread into pieces so each of them has an even part.

“I could do with a pint,” Louis grumbles, and Zayn snorts.

It’s not that Louis can’t handle a loss—it’s just that he likes to grumble about it and use it to his own profit. In this case by expecting Zayn to hand him a bottle of lager.

Zayn does get a (particularly bad) kiss for that in return, though. Louis is in one of his dramatic moods after the game, messying up Zayn’s hair with his hands and moaning open-mouthed against Zayn’s closed lips while Liam and Niall laugh at them from their place on the other side of the table.

When he is finally let go by Louis, Zayn wipes the spittle from the lower half of his face and says, “Enjoy your dinner.”

-

By the time they’ve finished up, Niall’s sideburns have grown significantly. They’re coming in in his natural brown haircolour, making the bleach-blond on top of his head stand out even more.

“My joints hurt,” he complains and Liam’s up from the chair without Niall having to beg for a massage.

Zayn is on dishwashing duty tonight so he starts on that, and Louis grabs Liam’s backpack from the living. Soon the little room smells like the Wolfsbane potion, as Liam massages it into Niall’s skin. He’s got his shirt off, and the hair on his torso is growing thick as well—Zayn always feels like he can blink just once and see the difference like that.

“Lee-Lee,” Louis mutters over his fresh post-tea cuppa, “I found a bottle of wine in there. Care to explain?“

Zayn turns around so he can watch Niall’s response at that—and it’s obvious, his nails growing into claws as he stills in his place.

“Uh, there’s not much to explain, really,” Liam says, looking a bit uncomfortable.

“Are you going on a date or is it for us?” Louis presses, and he’s clearly watching Niall too. Zayn curses inwardly, because he’s warned Louis to not do this when Niall’s feeling poorly and yet here he is. The boy loves pushing people to the limit.

“If you must know,” Liam says, and the flush on his cheeks darkens, “it’s for me mum.”

Niall quite literally barks out a laugh. His voice is deeper when he speaks again, more gruff now. “Glad it’s not for some girl your mum’s trying to set you up with,” he mumbles, nuzzling his head against Liam’s arm. Liam can’t withstand temptation (Zayn knows the predicament he’s in, it’s very hard to deny Niall anything because he’s just so loveable) and starts to pet Niall’s head.

Liam smiles down at Niall, and Zayn is reminded of how oblivious the two of them are. They’ve been dancing around each other for ages now—he remembers Liam talking about Niall first stumbling into _Payne’s Peculiarities_ , desperate and with bloodied hands the morning after his first full moon as a werewolf, and the quick friendship they’d developed over the next couple of months. He also remembers his friends taking turns in coming to the house and to confess their feelings—just not _to each other_.

“Well,” Liam mumbles, still carding his fingers through Niall’s hair, “I did tell her about the maybe it not having to be a girl thing.”

Niall hums like he already knew, but it is news to Zayn.

“Good for you,” he tells Liam, and then (because he’s a decent bloke), “how did it go?”

Liam shrugs as he looks at Zayn. “Mum’s been dealing with supernatural beings most of her life, and dad’s from a long line of what could be considered witches, so they weren’t too put off by it.”

“Did they hug you?” Louis asks.

 “Of course they did,” Liam frowns. “What else would they have done?”

Louis shrugs. “Reckon me dad would’ve thrown me in the cellar if he’d found out I was into buggery.”

“You’d never been with a bloke back then, though,” Niall says.

He’s more calm than he usually is during his transformation, still relaxing into Liam’s touch as his nose changes and his jaw stretches forward a little more. There are thick tufts of hair everywhere but he still looks relatively human. When the change is complete he’ll look more like a dishevelled Golden Retriever than a menacing werewolf, mostly thanks to his fur, which is cute but it’s also going to be all over Zayn and Louis’ carpet tomorrow morning. Oh well.

Louis pokes out his tongue and tells him, “Go into the living, I’ll help Zayn clear up the rest.”

There really isn’t any _rest_ to clean by now, but Liam and Niall listen anyway and Louis takes the opportunity to push Zayn up against the kitchen counter.

“Wish I could fuck you tonight,” he mumbles, kissing the skin under Zayn’s ear as he slides his hands down Zayn’s sides.

“Tomorrow, yeah?” Zayn promises, cupping Louis’ jaw with his hand and drawing him for a kiss.

It doesn’t last long but it’s a good snog, Lou’s tongue soft against Zayn’s as their body press together along the front. Zayn widens his stance a little, a Pavlovian response to Louis’ touch, and Louis makes use of it to push himself closer to Zayn.

“Niall’s here,” Zayn mutters when the kiss breaks. He buries his face against Louis’ neck as he does so often, just breathing in the warm scent of him, a bit of fast food and a bit of after shave, but mostly a lot of the boy Zayn’s in love with.

“Bugger,” Louis groans. “I keep forgetting about him sniffing us out.”

Zayn laughs against Louis’ skin. “I know, love, but we’ll have all of tomorrow, alright?” Louis nods, hugging Zayn a bit closer to him; Zayn can feel that he’s half-hard through his trousers.

“I like spending time with you alone, Z,” he mutters. “Not with bloody Niall and his dog hearing and dog smelling and dog need for attention.”

Louis’ grumpiness makes Zayn laugh harder. “You’re whining again, Lou, you love hanging out with Niall and you love it even more when he’s a wolf.”

“Well, look at you being all giddy,” Louis tells him.  “Let’s see who’s going to take Nialler outside for potty.”

Zayn rolls his eyes as he pulls Louis in for a last kiss.

They used to have a dog, he and Lou, and the reason they didn’t get a new one was in part that Louis was inconsolable after Frankenstein had died (and honestly, so was Zayn) but also for a big part that Zayn was always the one who’d ended up going out with Frank for his walks.

Niall is loudly complaining about _Louis’ penis smell, Liam, you have to go in there and stop them!_ when they get back into the room. Louis responds by all but shoving his groin into Niall’s face, all but making him laugh while Liam tries to push him away from Niall.

He’s well on his way to half wolf now, his face in Liam’s lap (Zayn isn’t surprised that Niall is fine with _Liam’s_ penis smell) while Liam strokes down his back. Niall’s body is convulsing and his voice is starting to lose its ability to form human sounds as his jaw and nose meld together.

It’s pretty fucking horrible and Zayn still feels sick when he has to see it happen, but Liam stays calm through the entire ordeal. When he’s not here, Louis is usually there to comfort Niall, but he’s not as good as Liam by any means. Zayn just isn’t sure if that’s because of the chemistry between Niall and Liam, or because Liam’s grown accustomed to it up to a certain point.

The first time Niall and Liam met, it was the day after Niall’s first transformation. He’d been bitten by what he’d thought was a dog the month before and figured that was the end of it—especially because he’d gone to his GP for a tetanus shot and everything.

Zayn doesn’t know the details, but he does know that Niall had been bloodied and in hysterics, panicking because he’d found a dead and half-eaten bunny beside his bed.

The full moon after, Liam’s dad had kept an eye on Niall as he went through the transformation, but from what Zayn understands, everyone very quickly realised that even as a werewolf, Niall wouldn’t hurt a fly. Why he had the bunny in his room is unclear (they do joke that Niall had stumbled upon the animal and tried to save it), but he’s never bitten anyone and he rarely even barks at other dogs in the street.

He just is a bit uncontrollable when he smells food, which is—well, which is why it’s a good thing that he’s a werewolf by night, rather than by day, because it makes taking him out much easier.

Zayn pops out for a quick fag, with Louis joining him not soon after. They don’t snog, Louis just curls his arm around Zayn’s waist and leans his head on his shoulder, and it’s nice to be like that for a while, standing huddled up in the little back porch as the drizzle is lit up by the neighbours’ lights.

“Can’t stand seeing him like this,” Louis mutters. “He was moaning in pain again.”

“Yeah,” Zayn grumbles in agreement.

“Don’t see how Liam can be so calm,” Lou continues, and Zayn nods, pressing a kiss to Louis’ cheek.

“I reckon he’s a better person than us.”

Louis snorts out a laugh, smoke coming from his nose and mouth at once. “You wouldn’t say.”

Zayn smiles back at Louis, because honestly—Liam is probably the best person they know, along with Niall. It’s not much of a surprise they like each other so much, with their general puppy-ness (because Liam may not be a werewolf, but those big browns of his are definitely puppy _eyes_ ). It’s hard to best that, especially with the shit he and Lou get up with at times. It doesn’t mean that either of them are _bad_ people (well, vampires), though.

“Reckon we have to relieve Lee of his duty,” Louis says eventually. “Be good lads for a while.”

“You’re good too, Lou,” Zayn tells him. “Just different.”

“Yeah,” Louis says nonchalantly, but his eyes sparkle at the compliment.

Zayn is definitely honest, too, and Louis deserves the compliment. For all his occasional twattisness—well. If Liam and Niall are puppies, then Louis is sunshine.

-

Liam leaves shortly after Niall’s changed completely, stretching his paws and back on the rug in the living room.

Louis settles on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table, and he puts on the new episode of _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._

“Can’t believe they let Fitz go in like that,” Louis gasps, and then he’s squeezing Zayn’s hand. It’s on the painful side, and Zayn knows that Louis does it on purpose—he likes to think that melodrama will hide how affected he truly is.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Zayn whispers, careful to not talk too much over what’s going on on-screen. He presses a kiss to Louis’ cheek.

“It’s _Shield_ ,” Louis squawks. “No one is safe, Zayn, you know that by now!”

Zayn hides his smile against Louis’ shoulder.

Louis’ noise has woken up Niall, who’d nodded off for a bit, and he comes padding over to the couch so Zayn scoots back far enough that Niall can jump into his lap.

“You want to be petted, hm?” he mutters, rubbing his fingers through Niall’s fur.

He and Louis had agreed to have Niall stay over during full moons when Liam had had to work the next day. By now it’s not really necessary anymore—Niall’s stayed at his own place a couple of times, with Karen dropping by at two to take him for a walk, but they all know Niall does not trust himself like they trust him when he’s wolf.

Niall pants, eyes closed, and Louis snorts as he joins in, the episode paused as he’s switched the telly to the game between Man United and Arsenal. They’re in the final minutes and Zayn understands why Louis didn’t insist on watching like he would usually—United is doing so poorly that even Zayn notices.

“Who’s a good boy,” he coos at Niall, “that’s right, _I’m_ the good boy!”

Niall barks at Louis, crawling over to his lap to lick at his face. Louis presses his mouth closed as he lets Niall give him doggy-kisses while Zayn smiles at the two of them.

“I think I might go for a quick shower,” he tells Louis.

“Yeah,” Louis says, having set Niall back on the floor. “Pass me the doggy toys, yeah?”

Zayn accidentally hits Louis in the head with the rubber duck, but Niall seems to enjoy that which means that Louis laughs along.

-

 There’s not much else they do (and it’s boring, but Zayn doesn’t tell Louis that in case he comes up with a plan that ends up with someone getting hurt or fined by the police).

Niall pads through the room, but since the time he’d raided the kitchen cabinets, they keep the door leading to the back area closed. His ears do perk up whenever a car or group of students pass by, but he stays put, eyes lazily following what’s happening on the telly.

By the time Zayn’s craving another ciggie, the drizzle outside has died down for at least a little while and he figures he might as well take Niall for a walk.

“You ready to go outside, Nialler?” he asks, and Niall looks up at him with his big blue eyes.

Honestly, he looks a tad ridiculous with the tufts of wild blonde hair still on his head, covering the top of his muzzle down to his nose, while the rest of his fur is brown. When he and Louis go for walks with Niall, they do get their fair share of attention. Sometimes it’s people staring at Niall with disdain (Zayn understands, he would not dye his own dog’s hair) and sometimes it’s people who want to pet him or ask which breed he is.

The odds are in their favour though, because even though the drizzle’s stopped for now, the weather is still miserable and there won’t be many people in the street.

-

Louis ends up joining Zayn and Niall, as usual.

It’s chilly out, and the wind is picking up so Zayn hopes that it won’t start raining again.

The walk is quiet, as neither he nor Louis are in the mood to be talking much, and they let Niall roam free in the nearby park for a while.

He takes great enjoyment in chasing the ducks while Zayn and Louis sit on a damp bench (he’ll have to change his trousers later, but really it’s a good excuse to put on joggers) for a smoke.

The moon pops up briefly between the clouds, and Zayn can feel that age-old itch in his veins, the one that speaks of his heritage but not habit. He knows Louis can feel it too, shifting next to Zayn and pulling at his jumper.

They’re meant to be out and about. They’re meant to scare people, their eyes glowing red under the full moon—he can see the glimmer of it in Louis’ eyes, more noticeable in the sea of blue than it could ever be in his own brown eyes—guardians that keep humankind from more dangerous evils.

Most of those evils have been long eradicated, though, taken down during the crusades and witch hunts and world wars, if it wasn’t in fights with their own kinds. Power does corrupt people, whether they are human or superhuman. It doesn’t matter much.

The teeth are to scare people too, but between their ability to pierce skin and vampirism being transmitted via saliva, Zayn understands how people have come to think that you need to be bitten.

You don’t, you just need to swallow the saliva. He remembers the weirdly sexual setting of his own transfiguration, with his abbu and ammi sitting outside of the door while he was inside with a gorgeous Princess of the Underworld who was to initiate him. Ritaj was a jinn _ranks_ up from the lowly vampire Zayn would be until he’d prove to her that he was worthy to be more than that—just as his parents had. (He never managed).

He still remembers her grinning at him as he’d stared in the mirror to watch his fangs grow while it still felt like bugs crawled under his skin, his entire body buzzing with the force of the change in his atoms, in his entire _being_.

He crushes the butt under the heel of his boot, and shakes a second from the pack. At least even the most basic immortality does come with its perks—Zayn won’t suffer from cancer or clogged veins any time soon.

Eventually they move on, mostly because Louis says, “I think I felt a raindrop there.”

They walk arm in arm, Louis holding the leash as they walk through the streets surrounding the major clubbing area.

Suddenly Niall starts pulling on Louis’ arm, forcing them forward and around a corner, and Zayn looks at him confusedly because it’s well past twelve, there shouldn’t be food out and there are no snack places around, before Louis groans.

“Man United had their match tonight,” he grumbles. “I’ll bet it’s that hot dog vendor again.”

“Oh shit,” Zayn mutters, right when Niall breaks free.

He’s barking loudly, well ahead of them by the time they start to gain some speed of themselves (sadly they are not superhuman in this aspect, unless you put it in terms of no human being able to run when they’re 800 years of age).

“Not the hot dogs, Niall!” Zayn shouts after the dog. Wolf. Werewolf—whatever, really.

“No, Niall!” Louis screams along. “You’re bloody Irish, you twat, not an American!”

Niall is panting up at the vendor with a wagging tail and large eyes by the time they catch up to him, and Zayn is hardly surprised to find that the vendor looks at him and Louis a little guiltily.

“He looked pretty hungry,” he tells them. “Uh. Shite, lads, I’m sorry!”

“It’s alright,” Zayn tells him. “We’ll just, uh, take him home.”

“Yeah, must be the full moon,” the vendor mutters, and Louis snorts beside Zayn.

Zayn rolls his eyes as he tugs at Niall’s leash, and once they’ve rounded the corner he crouches down and tells him, “We’re not taking you out for long walks again if you keep doing that, you hear?”

Niall looks at them like he understands and Zayn sighs resignedly. It’s hard to read a dog who’s _really_ not a dog.

“C’mon, love,” Louis tells him, holding out a hand for Zayn so he can get up more easily. “Let’s head home, yeah?”

Zayn nods.

-

They do take out Niall on a quick second walk when he needs it, coming to Louis with the leash between his teeth.

Louis promises Niall a belly rub if he behaves, and does as he’s said when they get back and Niall has not even as much as turned his head at one of the ducks.

-

Niall’s transformation back to human is less painful (or so he claims), but Zayn is inclined to say it’s worse to watch.

Not in the least because he ends up naked on their rug, with mounds of shed fur around him.

“Hi,” he smiles cheerfully, hands covering his crotch until Louis throws a pillow at him. And then, less cheerfully, “bloody hell, did you let me eat hot dogs again?”

“Yup,” Louis says, sipping at his tea.

“I bloody hate mustard,” Niall grumbles as he gets up, keeping himself covered with the pillow. “Where did Liam put my clothes?”

“Bathroom,” Zayn tells him. “Feel free to take a shower too.”

“Thanks,” Niall says.

Zayn goes on to draw the curtains so Louis won’t get burnt for a second night in a row, the sun not quite rising yet as the world is a dull but lightening up to a grey-blue outside.

Then he pulls out the vacuum cleaner and starts on the mess in the living room. Louis, ever so helpfully, only lifts his feet so Zayn can pass and lets him vacuum the bottom of his socks so they’re hair-free too before Louis grabs his bum.

“Christ,” Zayn swears, swatting at Louis’ arm. “Go check if I closed the curtains in the kitchen, I can’t remember.”

Louis stays put, and Zayn doesn’t want to think about the reasons why he’s not the least bit irritated at having to do it for Louis.

(He knows, though, that it’s because Louis looks so comfy on the couch, huddled up in his little corner with his joggers and too-large jumper and too-large socks—warm and soft with his hair unwashed, smiling at Zayn tiredly.)

-

They eat their breakfast together with Niall, a full English that Niall pays half the money for because Louis and Zayn have to be a bit careful with their money. They have the income from the castle and they both have jobs sometimes, but they can’t stay too long before people will start to notice and there’s not a huge supply of night jobs.

By the time they’re done, the sun’s up and Louis is yawning (Zayn suspects that Louis was up for at least some hours during the day to play games—probably in bed on his game boy, since Zayn didn’t notice he was gone).

“I want to go sleep,” he mutters.

“Go to bed then, you nut,” Niall laughs at him and Zayn is glad that Niall never makes fun of Louis for his insomnia. The comment makes Louis smile, kissing Zayn’s cheek and bumping his fist against Niall’s shoulder before he goes upstairs.

Niall himself more chipper than he was yesterday for sure, and Zayn is happy about that. They don’t really have a word for it, and Liam says that it’s not even really a thing in the books, but he does get bad moods before he’s about to turn. PMS, Karen had joked, and Niall had simply shrugged and said, “Glad I’m not bleeding or in pain for five days, then. Poor women.”  

“Are you leaving soon or is Liam going to pick you up?” Zayn asks him.

“Liam,” Niall says. “How are you and Lou doing? I _do_ remember you almost got it on in the kitchen last night.”

Zayn snorts. “All Louis’ doing.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Niall grins at him. “I’ll bet he’s keeping you on a leash. He’s just scared that you’ll move on.”

“Haven’t found the perfect ring for our proposal yet,” Zayn jokes. “Honestly though, did you know Liam came out to his parents?”

Niall nods. “Couple of weeks ago, he told me when I dropped by the shop. Karen was there too and she tried to set us up on a date, actually.”

Zayn’s eyebrows fly up. “You’re shitting me.”

“No,” Niall says, a little dreamily. “Didn’t do it, ‘course, we want it to be on our own terms but-“

And it doesn’t surprise Zayn, that Niall wants to take his time, but one thing stands out for him in that sentence. “We?”

“We’re taking it slow, mate,” he tells Zayn, and staring at Zayn’s shocked face he starts laughing (it’s one of the episodes where his whole face goes red and he can’t breathe, and Zayn loves that Niall is still uninhibited like that). “Did you think we didn’t know we fancy each other?”

“Uh,” Zayn stammers. “You didn’t tell me _or_ Louis that you knew Liam fancies you. Last thing I remember, you were sat at this table here and talking about how you couldn’t ask him out because you didn’t want to ruin what you had!”

“Yeah,” Niall wipes away his tears, still smiling broadly. “And that’s how Liam feels too, so we’re taking it slow.” And with a little shrug, “We’re just enjoying what we’ve got right now. I thought you’d understand that, of all people.”

“Uh—“ Zayn mutters, saved by the doorbell because he’s honestly not sure how to respond to that. He does enjoy what he has going on with Louis, but it’s only ever been a mutually beneficial thing. Feelings were never part of _their_ agreement, unlike Niall and Liam’s.

The more perverted side of Zayn is still wondering whether his mates have had sex yet or if they’re still in that innocent stage of pre-dating when he opens the door to Liam.

“Hi,” he says, stepping inside and wiping the rain from his face. “Did Nialler pull through the night all right?”

“Yeah,” Zayn did. “Didn’t chase any pigeons into the trees and he didn’t jump into the pond so I’m well chuffed.”

“Brilliant,” Liam smiles.

“He did let me eat a hot dog though!” Niall complains as he joins them in the corridor. “I can still taste the mustard.”

Zayn is still in the process of saying what bullshit that is, when Liam leans in and snogs Niall.

Well, that answers _that_ , he thinks with a huff.

Zayn slowly turns the handle on the front door to get their attention. “Uh, so, I was wondering if you’d kindly take this elsewhere, because I can think of better bedtime stories than this.”

Liam has guts honestly, because he lifts his middle finger over his shoulder. (It’s a classic symptom of too much time with Louis. Zayn knows because he’s in the habit of shit like this himself, it’s horrible.)

-

Louis is proper pleased by the new developments when Zayn accidentally wakes him up (“I wasn’t asleep yet, I _swear_!”) although it very quickly switches to disappointment that he wasn’t there to witness it as well.

“Would’ve snapped you a picture if I had my phone on me,” Zayn mutters as he snuggles up to Louis. “They were cute at first.”

“At first?” Louis smirks. “Did they snog? Like, dirty snog?”

Zayn grumbles as he nods his head. “Very dirty snog.”

“Aww,” Louis coos. “I always knew our boy Payno would grow up some day.”

“He’s not a virgin anymore, Lou, and you know that,” Zayn tells him, but Louis shrugs in his arms.

“I’m glad he and Niall are so good for each other,” he says, more serious than before. “They deserve that.”

“That’s all true, yeah,” Zayn says, and then Louis is yawning again. “Go back to sleep, love.”

“Mmm,” Louis hums, fingers tickling over Zayn’s stomach for a moment before he apparently finds the position they’re in suitably comfortable to sleep in.

Zayn listens to Louis’ breathing even out, and then waits for sleep to come.

 

 

_Sunday, or: Walcott  
The Holy Roman Empire roots for you_

 

Louis wakes up Zayn because he keeps tossing and turning in the bed.

“What are you doing?” Zayn grumbles at him.

“Can’t find me phone,” Louis tells him, leaning over Zayn and reaching under his pillow. Zayn is just about smothered by Louis’ damp armpit when Louis lets out a little whoop.

“Why do you need your phone anyway?” he asks.

“Well,“ Louis starts, like this should be obvious to Zayn by now. “To check how late it is, of course.”

“Right.”

“Really, though,” Louis says, falling back into the bed. “I can’t sleep anymore, so I wanted to check how late it is.”

“And, how late is it,” Zayn asks.

“Only about four,” Louis tells him, sighing. There’s definitely frustration in his voice, which does upset Zayn a little. “I don’t feel like going back to sleep, Z.”

“You could see if Niall’s on line,” Zayn mutters as he turns around in bed, curling up into fetal position. He’d love to stay up with Louis but he does need his sleep. “Or maybe Harry wants to hang out, I dunno.”

“He’s probably with the potheads though,” Louis complains, “and I bet that if Niall’s not asleep, he’s fucking Liam.”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, yawning as he starts to drift off again. “More reason for you to harass them by phone.”

It’s a bit shit towards their mates honestly, for suggesting the idea to Louis. If Zayn had been a bit more awake, he’s sure he’d have been right with Louis to execute the plan—but at least Louis sounds happy at the prospect and he climbs out of the bed.

At least he’s leaving Zayn alone for now.

-

It’s six by the time Zayn wakes up again.

Unlike Louis, his sleeping pattern is very set. Go to bed at six, wake up at six (unless it’s raining outside, and some days his bed feels lovely). He’s used to Louis’ messy sleeping pattern, but he can understand that it must be shit to be a vampire with insomnia, unable to go outside at all while you’re restless as hell.

Zayn suspects that it’s part of why Louis misses the castle so much. While it was cold, and shitty, and away from everything fun, it was also very large. There was enough space for him to roam about and he definitely didn’t wake up Zayn quite as often back then.

Now they’ve a little gym in the attic instead, consisting of some old equipment that they’ve bought over the few years they’ve been living in this place. The lads have helped them pick up the push-up bench and the hometrainer. There’s also one of the big rubber balls in the corner of the room, which is half-deflated.

Zayn is a bit embarrassed having to admit that that’s because he’d thought it would be a good idea to play pissed footie with it in the street, after he kept missing the normal football that Louis had brought outside.

Neither of them use it much. Liam used to drop by occasionally when he still worked at _Payne’s Peculiarities_ part-time, low on money before earning his business degree and starting to take over the shop. Now it’s only Harry who goes upstairs now and again, only to come back downstairs drenched in sweat (it smells like pond-water, which Zayn still isn’t sure is worse or better than actual sweat) and wearing his tiny little workout trousers. Or maybe they’re pants, really, since they’re the only layer of clothes he has on.

Now, he can hear the rickety thump-thump-thump of Louis working out his frustration on the hometrainer.

Zayn leaves him be, instead opting to go downstairs. Louis is bound to hear him, because even though they don’t have supernatural hearing, Louis somehow always knows what Zayn is up to.

He turns on the kettle, and by the time he’s pouring water on the tea bags Louis is walking into the kitchen. He’s flushed and panting, and Zayn feels a bit sorry for him because he knows Louis hasn’t been feeling well the past few days and there’s not much he has to offer beyond sex and a fresh cuppa.

“Here, love,” he says, putting the tea in front of Louis when he’s sat down.

“Thanks,” Louis mutters, leaning his head on his arm, spread out flat on the table next to the tea. It’s all a bit dangerous but since Louis wouldn’t _really_ get hurt (beyond the initial pain, of course) Zayn doesn’t bother warning him.

“You still feeling bad?” he asks, and Louis nods.

“Been mardy as fuck, I hate the full moon, I hate this bloody _house_ and I wanted to fuck you last night but bloody Niall had to go be a puppy again,” he word-vomits. “And I’m tired of being cooped up in here all the time.”

“I understand, Lou,” Zayn says, with some pain because although he does, he’s not quite in the _same_ situation.

“Just give me a good hug, yeah?” Louis mumbles, voice more quiet, and Zayn knows Louis is crying quietly, probably exhausted from another restless night and the frustration that comes with it.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, getting up to curl up in Louis’ lap, shoving the tea away from their side of the table as Louis sits up. “Come here.”

Louis sighs against Zayn’s neck. “Sorry for being such a prick sometimes.”

“That’s okay, love,” Zayn tells him. “I know you are.”

Louis punches him weakly, which Zayn counts as a small victory. “Stuff it.”

“You love me,” Zayn snickers, and Louis looks up at him.

“Yeah, I do.”

 _Oh God,_ Zayn thinks, and he kisses Louis before he says _I love you too_.

-

Zayn eventually manages to get Louis to eat some Coco Pops and have a cuppa.

Louis is staring at him with a heavy gaze that Zayn recognises from countless other nights, the one that still makes his breath come a little heavier, that makes his cock twitch in his trousers in anticipation.

Louis doesn’t even speak when Zayn has finished his own breakfast cereals; he just slides a hand around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Come upstairs,” Louis mumbles into Zayn’s mouth, entwining their fingers.

Zayn stands up and pulls Louis with him. “Let’s go then, yeah?”

 They barely make it down the corridor before he’s pushed up against the wall by Louis, who’s grinding their groins together. “Wanna make you so hard,” Louis groans, looking down at their joggers pressing together as he grabs Zayn’s bum. “And then I’m going to keep you hard for ages, just fucking you slowly—“

“Stop teasing,” Zayn responds, pushing Louis off before pressing a quick kiss to his lips because all he really wants to do is show Louis he still loves him. 

“You’re no fun,” Louis complains as Zayn starts to push him up the stairs, deliberately pushing his weight back so it’s harder.

“And you’re not getting anywhere nearer the bed like this,” Zayn retorts. “Thought you wanted to fuck me, babe.”

“Right,” Louis takes in a little shivery breath and just like that, Zayn’s shoulder is pushing into thin air instead of against Louis’ bum.

Zayn gets down on the bed as he watches Louis undress, noting the hint of impatience still in his body as he chucks his clothes to the side. His cock is chubbing up a little between his legs, just enough to curve forward in a slight downwards angled bow. It stands out rosy pink amidst the coarse dark hair, and Zayn knows how Louis tastes there, how he smells—he knows where he’s most sensitive.

He’d love to get his mouth on Louis now he’s still mostly soft, suck him to full hardness and make him shiver, his mouth filling with saliva.

Louis catches him staring and he shakes his head. “Know you love it, babe,” he tells Zayn, crawling over him on the bed, “but I wanna take it slow and your mouth—“ and he runs his thumb over Zayn’s bottom lip to emphasise the words, “well, your mouth gets me going like a fire engine. Can’t have that.”

Zayn sucks down Louis’ finger instead, the pad of his thumb a bit salty—a bit like he’s thumbed at his cock while Zayn wasn’t looking, actually, which sends a little shiver through his body.

Then Louis’ hand is gone from Zayn’s mouth to find a new place on Zayn’s hip. Louis’ movements are deft as he slides up Zayn’s shirt, and Zayn lifts his arms so Louis can pull it off more easily.

He takes some time kissing at Zayn’s puffy nipples, the colour of them ever so slightly darker than Louis’ own. Zayn watches as Louis flicks out his tongue, nipping at the bud with his fangs while squeezing his other nipple to darkness with his hand. Even though it stings, it’s the feeling of dull pleasure that’s spreading through his body ever so slowly, and it only serves to make Zayn crave more of Louis’ touch elsewhere.

He bucks up his hips to call Louis’ attention to his hardening cock, but Louis shakes his head.

“Going to take this _so_ slow,” he mumbles. “Want to take it so long that you don’t even realise you’re about to come until you already are.”

“Jesus,” Zayn  mutters. He’s pretty sure that’s impossible—he can’t _really_ remember it ever happening like that before, but his memory isn’t exactly perfect.

Louis makes his way down Zayn’s chest, nipping at the soft swell of skin over his pecs and sucking bruises against his ribcage, the soft skin of his tummy, tickling his fingers along the sides at the same time until Zayn isn’t sure whether he wants to move into the touch or away from it.

It signifies their relationship well, in any case—the teasing, the occasional hurt, and the tender way with which Louis touches him at _any_ time, even when there’s  a side of pain. The way Zayn is more and more turned on is clear proof of how much he is into Louis.

Finally Louis grabs the lube from the night stand, slicking up his fingers while he whispers to Zayn, “On your side, please. And take off your bottoms.”

Louis lies down next to him while Zayn wriggles out of the remainder of his clothes, and when he’s naked and on his left side Louis pushes up behind him, kneeing at Zayn’s right thigh to make some more space.

He fingers Zayn like that, moving slowly the entire time as he stretches him. From the position they’re in, his fingers don’t reach his prostate but Zayn doesn’t mind, revelling in the feeling of Louis’ fingers, the slow-spreading arousal in his body.

By the time Louis pulls out his fingers and lines up his cock with Zayn’s hole, Zayn’s ready for it. It’s still slow and steady, mostly about feeling close as Louis wipes his hand cleans and presses himself close to Zayn’s back.

It’s warm and lovely and slow, focused just on being close to each other, and Zayn watches as Louis’ hand circles around his cock, just resting there, providing the smallest of stimulation to the base of his hard-on.

“Love this,” Louis mutters behind him as his fingers dart up to tease at the head of Zayn’s cock, sending several sharp shocks of pleasure through his body before it’s back to its grounding pressure around the base and on his balls.

“Yeah,” Zayn groans, pushing his hips back against Louis’ cock a bit.

He’s moving his hips very slowly against Zayn’s arse, barely enough to move at all and Zayn closes his eyes again to focus on the feeling.

It’s easy to lose himself in it. Louis is teasingly touching his dick, rubbing along the underside with his fingertips and kissing his neck gently. He’s barely aware of how long it goes on until Louis talks again.

“Happy anniversary, love,” is what he whispers, which makes Zayn frown, because they don’t celebrate anniversaries generally unless it’s something important—and he’d have known if today was something special.

“Which anniversary?”

Louis stops moving even though he’s inside of Zayn, and Zayn knows that the back of his head is being judged hard. “Our anniversary, Zayn.”

“Which?” Zayn asks again, and he’s starting to feel a bit panicked as he tries to rake his mind and comes up with _nothing_.

“Our three-hundred and fifty first?” Louis says in disbelief. “You know, the whole we’ve been a couple for centuries thing?”

Zayn’s heart stops in his chest. Or he supposes it would have, and it would have led to his death, if he had not been immortal. He might lose his breakfast, though.

“We’re dating?” His voice has gone high-pitched and he knows, and Louis is pulling out.

“We weren’t?” Louis asks, voice betraying an emotion Zayn can’t quite place. And when Zayn doesn’t respond to him, because he’s quite honestly a bit frozen in place and trying to not vomit, because he _didn’t know_ , “Zayn.  _Zayn_.”

“I didn’t know,” Zayn finally mutters, not looking at Louis.

Lou crawls on top of him, tapping at his face. “You didn’t know we were _dating?”_

“Did you just slap me with your cock?” Zayn shouts, looking down at where Louis is leaning over him.

“Fucking yes I did!” Louis squeals. “What did you expect, you cunt! I thought we were seeing each other from the first time we _fucked_!”

“I didn’t know!” Zayn shrieks, slapping away Louis’ hands as they try to twist his nipples in the not-so-fun way—even if he probably deserves that.

“ _Three hundred and fifty years_ , Zayn,” Louis starts hitting him and Zayn wishes he wasn’t so preoccupied with watching the way Louis’ dick slides against his thigh—he shouldn’t be thinking about _sex_ right now even if that’s what they were doing, even though he’s _halfway through a panic attack as well_.

“I’m sorry,” he screams over Louis’ curses, “I’m bloody sorry, alright,” he says as Louis calms down a bit. He’s finally able to circle Louis’ wrists with his hands, pulling at his arms until Louis looks down at him. “I wanted it to be real, like, I just was scared you didn’t want it.”

“How in the hell did you get that idea in your thick head?” Louis mutters. “We’ve been telling each other _I love you_ for centuries!”

“We did that before we fucked!” Zayn argues.

“Not loads of times!” Louis pouts. “And I didn’t mean it then.”

“You’re not serious,” Zayn says.

“Of course I’m not!” Louis is back to shoving his body against Zayn, apparently still trying to fight. “I can’t believe I’ve— _have_ we been dating or haven’t we?”

And Zayn—Zayn doesn’t know. He thinks they might have been, because they were exclusive, but—“What do the lads think? Liam hugged me when I got sad over not dating you?”

“Harry thinks _everything_ is a joke, you know that,” Louis rolls his eyes. “And from what they’ve told _me_ , Nialler and Leemo think we’ve been in a relationship for, you know, over _three hundred years,_ Zayn.”

“So what about their sympathy when I’m complaining about you not loving me?” Zayn asks.

“They think you’re being broody and scared of being left alone!” Louis tells him. “ _I_ thought that! I thought you were jealous of Nick!”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats again, staring up at Louis. “I didn’t _know_ , I wanted it to be a thing so bad, like, but—“  and his heart is shattering in his chest as he watches Louis. He knows he broke the boy’s heart and all Zayn wants to do is keep him close, but he knows Louis might as well get dressed and go see Liam and Niall to cry his heart out.

Instead, Louis keeps gaping at him before he closes down a little, lying back down in back next to Zayn.

“I thought we’d talked about dating,” he says.

“I remember and I came away from that conversation thinking you weren’t gay,” Zayn retorts, and when he realises that that might have come out a bit ignorant, “I didn’t know you were into _me_ , Lou. You never said you’d want to date me for the rest of what could be eternity, you know?”

Louis is pouting, Zayn can hear it. “I thought you’d figured,” he mutters, curling his arms around Zayn’s waist again. “I haven’t wanted anyone else in forever.”

“Not even Nick?” Zayn asks. Honestly, he’d been a bit scared about that becoming a thing when Louis had first introduced him to Nick—he definitely was right about Zayn being jealous there.

Louis laughs—at him, not with him, definitely.

“ _Definitely_ not Nick,” he tells Zayn. “What on earth, I hate the miserable twat!”

Zayn shrugs, and he’s pretty embarrassed by the situation. Not that he’s going to tell Louis that, of course.

“I clearly don’t quite know what you’re feeling, Lou,” he mumbles. “Can’t read your mind either.”

“Don’t be bitter, you idiot,” Louis tells him, and then he hugs Zayn tighter. “We’re both dumb, yeah? We can be dumb together,” he says. “Be sort of perfect for each other, possibly.”

“I do love you, though,” Zayn tells him. “Love you loads, have for centuries.”

“That’s probably why I thought we were dating,” Louis quips. “Don’t think how else I’d have thought you were into me for so long. You know, if you hadn’t been actually into me.”

“I still feel like a right cunt,” Zayn ends his sentence on a gagging sound. “Why didn’t I know/”

“well, then ask yourself this—how did you go by three hundred and fifty-one anniversaries without noticing we always had sex on this particular date?” Louis wonders out loud.

“Because we have sex _most_ days, Lou.” It’s absolutely true. “And let’s not forget that when we started this, people weren’t exactly aware of what being gay meant.”

“We knew what it meant,” Louis huffs. “Brilliant sex, Zayn.”

Zayn snorts. “Well, yeah.”

“Brilliant sex every _day_ , Zayn.” Louis repeats a bit louder this time. “For three hundred and fifty years, _Zayn_.”

“I know,” Zayn says, but Louis is laughing against his arm which is a good sign. It affects him too, finally lifting the dour mood he was sinking into as Louis’ laughter is contagious enough that Zayn starts to giggle along. “I love you, Lou.”

“I love you too, Zayn,” Louis tells him, curling up against Zayn a little more. “Love you loads.”

“Love you loads more,” Zayn tells him back, cupping Louis’ chin so their mouths are aligned. Before he kisses Louis though, he says, “Love you most.”

Louis kisses him the way he always does, his lips soft and pliant while his tongue pushes deep into Zayn’s mouth. It doesn’t take long before they’re grinding their cocks together again, and Zayn moans when Louis reaches down to rub at Zayn’s hole again.

“Still want to fuck you,” Louis mutters into his mouth. “Just—fuck you into the mattress.”

Zayn nods as he kisses Louis again, allowing Louis to slide two fingers into his bum at once, spreading his legs a little so Louis can enter a bit more easily.

“You’re wet enough,” Louis tells him. “Get on your stomach, yeah?”

Zayn listens, and Louis pulls him up onto his knees by his hips. He helps along, of course, until he’s on all fours.

Louis slides in easily, groaning along with Zayn as he fills him back up. He starts up an easy rhythm, angling his hips again and again until he finds Zayn’s prostate—the _uh, uh, uh_ s that are punched from Zayn’s lungs each time he pushes in proof enough that he’s found the right spot.

Zayn’s leaking within no time, cock blurting out precome at the tip that he wants to use to slick his hand, to wank off, but Louis notices the hand he tries to sneak down and slaps it away.

“No,” he gruffly tells Zayn. “Not tonight, come on my cock or don’t come at all.”

Zayn groans as he buries his face in the pillow, because it’s always been hard for him to come from stimulation to his prostate alone—and he can hear, feel that Louis is closer to coming than he is.

It doesn’t change the fact that his entire body is taut with pleasure, though, pushing back onto Louis cock without thought as he tries to chase his own orgasm, to find it before Louis comes. Louis’ fingers are digging into his skin, their skin slapping together and producing that filthy noise of _sex_. Louis is getting loud too, moaning like he loves it, like Zayn knows he does.

“Going to come,” he grits out all too soon, and Zayn immediately feels disappointment course through his body because it means that tonight it’s not going to happen for him.

He feels Louis’ body tense up, feels the slide getting wet as Louis spills inside of him. He clenches around Louis, and Louis stutters out a few last thrusts before he’s pulling out, sitting back on his heels.

He’s still breathing heavily when he tells Zayn, “Come lie back down, love.”

Zayn obeys instantly, and Louis moves to lay face to face next to him. He kisses Zayn gently while his fingers are moving between Zayn’s legs, further and further back until his wrist is pressed against his balls and the tips of his fingers are pushed into his wet hole.

“You still want to come,” he whispers against Zayn’s mouth, and it’s hardly a question.

“Please make me, yeah,” Zayn mutters back. He’s looking at Louis bite down on his lower lip, watches as he wriggles further down so his fingers can slip in further.

The pressure on his prostate is more insistent this time, and Zayn throws his left leg over Louis’ hip, pulling their bodies closer to get Louis more comfortable, to get his fingers to fill him up even more.

Louis rubs and pushes at the spot and Zayn can feel arousal swell inside of him like the tides, big flooding waves of it that he’s quickly drowning by as his cock twitches between their bodies. He’s easily teased beyond the point of arousal where he’d usually come, Louis easing his movements a little each time Zayn’s about to _aboutto_ , until he’s drowning, can’t breathe—

He comes between their tummies, spilling for what feels like ages as Louis keeps up the rubbing, bringing out more and more seed. Louis finds his mouth at some point, kissing Zayn through it as Zayn holds on to Louis’ shoulders for dear life, his cock twitching out pulse after pulse until he’s dry.

By the time Louis pulls out his fingers, Zayn’s cock is still twitching minutely. He’s not sure if it’s the aftershocks of his orgasm or simply overstimulation, but Louis’ thigh brushing against his dick definitely makes him wince.

“Sorry love,” Louis mutters, pressing a kiss to his lips. “That alright for you?”

“Yeah,” Zayn gasps, even though he still feels a bit shaky.

“Good,” Louis tells him.

He pulls Zayn in for a hug, careful to not press their groins together just yet, and it feels lovely like this, lovely with Louis pressed up against him and feeling quite wrapped up in him honestly.

-

Zayn doesn’t even realise he’s gone to sleep after the sex until he’s waking up again. It’s embarrassing, but Louis doesn’t laugh at him.

Instead his boyfriend is sat up next to him in the bed, fresh tea on his night table and his game boy in his hand. When he turns his head he finds a second cuppa on his own table.

“Harry’s cooking dinner tomorrow and Liam’s asking if he and Nialler can drop by,” Louis tells him. “Oh, and Niall says congratulations with our anniversary.”

All in all, it sounds like tomorrow will be like any ordinary Monday night.

(Just, they’re officially together now and although Zayn did already quite love life, it makes him smile just a bit wider now).

 

[end]


End file.
